


The Night Shift

by RunningFox



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningFox/pseuds/RunningFox
Summary: Several months after seeing him in strung out in Hong Kong then vanishing in Maryland, Krycek reappears at Mulder's apartment in the middle of the night.





	The Night Shift

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers: piper maru/apocrypha, avatar.

**October, 1996**

> The sound woke Mulder, who in one swift move aimed his walther PPK at the doorway.
> 
> “Easy,” the intruder soothed, “Easy it’s me.”
> 
> Mulder laid down his gun as Krycek came in through shadows.  
> 
> He was already undressing himself, pulling the sleeves of his jacket loose from his arms.  The motion was awkward and jittery as he attempted to shimmy free of the material.  Mulder was already sitting up from his place on the couch and he reached out to Krycek,
> 
> “Let me help you,” Mulder’s voice was still scratchy from sleep.  He made a small sound of clearing his throat but Krycek wasn’t interested in his offer.
> 
> “No, no,” he replied.  He was whispering but it was only habit.  Mulder’s exhaustion made him quiet and Krycek instinctively followed his lead, “I can do it.  I’ve got it.”
> 
> Krycek came into reaching distance but Mulder had already sat back, allowing Krycek to kneel on the couch besides Mulder’s legs.  He was trying to get his shirt off, trying to get it over his head when Mulder stopped him.
> 
> “Relax,” Mulder calmed him.  Something was wrong, he could tell.  It wasn’t just the way Krycek moved, it was the way he looked.  The streetlights cast small beams of light across Mulder’s living room, his fish tank wrapping it in a soft, cool hue, and it glistened off Krycek’s forehead.  His chest heaved with deep, deliberate breaths.  And he was so close, Mulder could sense his heartbeat, could feel the invisible vibrations from his body, and it was moving fast.  Beating a million miles a minute.
> 
> “What’s wrong?”
> 
> “I want you,” Krycek moved in to kiss Mulder but at the twist of Mulder’s head, he caught only the corner of his mouth.
> 
> “No,” Mulder brought a hand up to Krycek’s chest, feeling the frantic lubdub.  He asked again, “What’s wrong with you?”
> 
> Finally, knowing better than to fight Mulder’s line of questioning, Krycek pulled back and dropped his hands on folded knees.  The breath he let out as he let his head drop was utter frustration.  He smiled then, something menacing in the darkness, all teeth, but to Mulder seemed childish.
> 
> “There’s no reason to make this difficult.  Don’t waste time right now, alright?”
> 
> “Humor me.  I’m going to have to charge you more if you want sex without even the semblance of conversation,”  Mulder’s voice was still low and his tone held sharp concern, “I’ll ask again: what’s wrong with you, Krycek?  You’re sweating, you look ill.  Which, honestly on second consideration, makes me even more sure I’d like some answers before we continue.”
> 
> “I’m fine,” Krycek’s hands came up to wipe his face, “I’m fine.  I’m just fuckin’ wired.  I’m wired and I’m here.  I’m here and I want to, to be with you.  I wanna…” Krycek was acutely aware that Mulder was peering at him from his side of the cushions.  He grasped for words, his brain was moving too quickly, “I wanna… I wanna make love to you.”
> 
> Silence.
> 
> “You want to make love to me?”
> 
> “Yes,” Krycek hissed, “yes, Jesus, yes.  What?” He saw Mulder shift to flick on the lamp on the end table.  It was cheap and filled the room in dusty yellow, “Oh, Christ.”
> 
> Mulder turned his back on the light to examine Krycek, who’s sensitive eyes were stinging.  He reached up a hand to protect them, squinting away from Mulder.  
> 
> “Jesus, Krycek,” he breathed, “You look terrible.”
> 
> “Thanks.”
> 
> He was gaunt and pale but his face was rosy with an unhealthy looking blush.  He looked like a man who’d run more miles then his body was meant for.
> 
> “What’s wrong with you?”
> 
> “Nothing!” Krycek snapped, the light was on and they didn’t need to whisper, “I told you I’m fine.  Why do you always need to needle me?  I had time, I was in town, I wanted to see you,” his next words were emphasized, “I /wanted/ to be with /you/.  Isn’t that what you want?”
> 
> “If I remember correctly, you said you wanted to ‘make love’ to me.  Never have I known Alex Krycek to be so poetic,” Mulder was flat, “I’m impressed, really."
> 
> "You want me to say sweet shit to you and I did,” Krycek’s eyes were beginning to adjust and he gradually lowered his hand.  His tone was anything but jovial, he was starting to get agitated,  "I did what you asked and you’re giving me a hard time about it?  What the fuck do you want, Mulder? And stop fucking staring at me.“
> 
> Mulder wasn’t staring, he was examining and this bothered Krycek more.
> 
> "Have you been hanging out with the kids who loiter in the mall parking lot?  Are you high?”
> 
> “No! Jesus!” Krycek threw his hands up but then he did what he always did, he folded.  He really didn’t want to hear it, “Fine, yes, I am.  I smoked a little crystal earlier.”
> 
> “Crystal?” For just a split moment, Mulder couldn’t wrap his head around the word and then he caught up with himself, “Crystal meth? You’ve been smoking meth? Have you lost your goddamn mind, Krycek?”
> 
> The concern in his words was diminished, Krycek thought, by the way Mulder pulled his legs out from the indian blanket on his couch and took a few thoughtful paces away—farther from Krycek.  The curl of his lip gave away his contention to, what Krycek could only consider, his entire existence.
> 
> “Don’t turn your nose up at me, Mulder,” Krycek watched Mulder get farther from him.  He felt judged and it made him angry.
> 
> “Why?  What’ll you do if I am?” Mulder turned on him, accusatory, “What the is wrong with you, Krycek?  Figured if a bullet doesn’t kill you, the 'crystal’ would?”
> 
> “First rule of a intervention, Mulder, you’re not supposed to fucking judge.  You’re supposed to have a fucking degree in this shit.”
> 
> “This isn’t an intervention, it’s an inquisition.  You act stupid and you get judged, Krycek, that’s the way of the goddamned world.  How long have you been smoking…” Mulder, eyebrows wrinkled and mouth agape, looked like he couldn’t bring himself to even say it, “meth?  Are you shooting it up?  Let me see your arms.”
> 
> Mulder’s stance implied he wanted Krycek to come to him, when Krycek didn’t the moment passed and the conversation progressed to an equally angry, Krycek, who could feel something else building, “I’m not fucking shooting it, Mulder, Jesus.  If I shot it, you’d see it and I’d have to fucking sit here and listen to you needle me about it!” his voice betrayed the rising rage, highlighted by the speed coursing through him, “Which is exactly what I didn’t fucking want!”
> 
> He was up off the couch in a movement so aggressive that Mulder instinctively touched his desk behind him, to brace himself in case Krycek came at him.  It was only an instant, though, and before he could even acknowledge it, he was puffed out and ready to fight Krycek, if he needed.
> 
> “Well, sorry for showing concern to the fucking methhead who—”
> 
> “Oh, please,” Krycek cut him off, he’d started a pace and he was laughing but it was so dark, so sarcastic, “Oh, fucking, please, Mulder.  Yeah, it’s 'concern’ you feel, alright.  Afraid I’m going give you way, Mulder?  Afraid someone might find out?  Afraid I might give you AIDS?”
> 
> “I’m concerned for /you/,” Mulder clenched his jaw so tightly, the muscle flexed.  What he said was true but so was what Krycek said, “Krycek, what would—"
> 
> "Stop calling me 'Krycek’!”
> 
> The outburst froze Mulder, who was caught briefly off guard by the sudden change in direction.
> 
> “I’m not your fucking partner!  Mulder, Krycek, Mulder, Krycek, like we’re still at the FBI.  I’m fucking Alex, my name is Alex, do you understand that?  Alex!  I’ll call you by your dumb fucking name too, if I want: Fox, Fox, Fox!  Like your bitch partner, 'Oh, Scully’, 'Oh, Mulder’, 'Oh, Scully’.  So fucking pompous, so fucking needy.  That help you, Fox?  Help you pretend?  Help you justify yourself?”
> 
> His speech was jumpy, his train of thought was coherent but frantic.  The speed at which he thought, the way the words came out of his mouth, caused gaps in the logic, “You’re erratic,” Mulder said from his place besides the desk, allowing emotion to leave him and clinical detachment to keep precedent, “It’s the methamphetamine, Kry—Alex.”
> 
> “Yeah, I know what it fucking does, Mulder, that’s why I smoke it!”
> 
> “To pace around my apartment like an animal?”
> 
> “To stay fucking awake!” Krycek brought up both his fists and in a sudden fit, brought them both down on Mulder’s coffee table.  The force of his single double-fisted blow made the cheap table leap and several items, including Mulder’s water glass, fall to the floor.  Krycek did too and ended up on his knees, hands still on the abused wood.  He was still so riled and Mulder was aware enough not to try to go to him.
> 
> “Poor, Fox,” he said and it really did seem like he was speaking more to himself, “Poor, Fox.  So hard, so sad, all day, everyday, going into the office, coming back to his apartment.  People just don’t understand you, do they, Fox?  They just don't—” Mulder could see a vein in Krycek’s neck as he spoke, he saw his knuckles go white with the force of his clenched fists, “—understand. You.  Your life is just a series of struggles, isn’t it?”
> 
> Mulder wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, that he wasn’t going to stand there and be belittled, but for once in his life, Fox Mulder contained any snarky remark he may have thought of and just watched.  It wasn’t out of consideration, it was smarts.  Krycek had stated it well when he’d entered; he was wired.  The methamphetamine did that and it also made him volatile.  And, Mulder knew, dangerous.  Krycek seemed to deflate a bit, sitting there, like he was suddenly very tired.
> 
> “I come here, I wanna’ see you, I wanna’ be with you and this bullshit… this bullshit all the time with you.  Do you know…” he started and his ire began to grow, talking himself back up into anger, “Do you know what I had to do to be here?”
> 
> No, honestly, Mulder didn’t.  He didn’t respond.
> 
> “I have so much to fucking do,” Krycek was standing on legs that were quick to lift him but shook when still.  He wasn’t making sense and his thoughts suddenly veered, “I saw you at the Ambassador.”
> 
> “The Ambassador?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Krycek confirmed, “with your boss, with Skinner.  I saw you there.”
> 
> Mulder’s mind whirled.  The Ambassador Hotel?  It seemed like such a random memory considering the circumstances so Mulder had to work to recover it.  Skinner.  Carina Sayles.  The old woman.  That had been earlier this year, months ago.
> 
> “You’ve been in DC since March?” Mulder asked.
> 
> “Oh, yeah, and then some,” he confirmed, his voice turned starkly bitter, “And it wasn’t a plane trip or a car ride.  It was hard.  It was really goddamned hard.”
> 
> “What happened in Maryland, Alex?”
> 
> “A long and lonely month, Fox, that’s what 'happened in Maryland’,” he mimicked, “So tell me fuckin’ again how hard it is for Fox Mulder.”
> 
> Mulder couldn’t help but throw up his hands lightly, “Obviously,” he said, indicating his hypothetical life, “everything has been going very well for me.  I could see why you’re filled with such envy, Alex.”
> 
> Krycek actually laughed but it was at him, Mulder knew, and not with him, “Oh, Jesus… you really are clueless, aren’t you, Fox?  You fucking daddy’s boy.  You fucking Martha’s Vineyard, Oxford motherfucker.”
> 
> “I wouldn’t bring up my father, Krycek,” he heard himself hissing before he could stop it.
> 
> “Oh,” this stopped Krycek just long enough to make his joke.  His rage was being replaced by a bitter mockery, “Oh, yes, I almost managed—for a short. fucking. moment—to forget about that but that’s okay because you’re here, you’re here to remind me.  The worst sin fucking imaginable—”
> 
> “You murdered him, you—”
> 
> “I did my fucking job!  The same way you do your job!"
> 
> "I don’t gun down innocent peopl—”
> 
> Krycek was on him then and Mulder’s flight-or-fight instinct stiffened him.  He hardened his resolve and stood strong, though Krycek was so close, he could feel his breath.  Mulder damned the height difference now, he damned that he didn’t have that advantage on Krycek, he wanted to keep his gaze on even ground.  His skin felt like pinpricks, so sharp they gave off the ghostly dusting of pain.  Krycek didn’t touch him but he threatened him no less, hissing into his face.
> 
> “Your father knew what he was doing, your father knew what he’d fucking signed up for.  As far as I’m concerned, he actually managed to be a bigger coward that that black-lunged piece of shit—your father made a cowardly deal to save himself then tried to back out of it when it got to be too much.  Some. fucking. patriot.”
> 
> “So, you shot him,” Mulder practically snarled, his eyes never wavering.
> 
> Krycek took a moment and then he held up a finger, touching the hollow of Mulder’s throat.  When it made contact, Mulder winced but recovered quickly.  Krycek leaned in just a little closer and Mulder was prepared to push him back until he spoke, “Yes, I did.  I shot him in his high-tile bathroom.  And you open your legs for me every time I come here.  So, enough with your swiss-cheese morality because I don’t want to fucking hear it.”
> 
> Hard, boiling guilt traveled over Mulder and he didn’t follow up.  He couldn’t face it now.
> 
> Mulder realized his mistake.  He’d let the situation spiral out of control.  It was strange but Mulder’s mind was suddenly filled with a memory he had of calling his mother, his first year at Oxford.  He’d told her he considered maybe becoming a licensed psychologist, after he completed his degree.  His mother had seemed genuinely delighted by that idea of her son a therapist.  He remembered laughing and clarifying his thoughts had lingered more into the criminal mind, she had chided, “Oh, Fox… you don’t want to be staring down the dregs of mankind day after day, it’s not good for you.”  
> 
> Mulder wondered why he thought of it now.
> 
> He never did become a clinical psychologist, he went to Quantico instead but, he thought, he knew enough.  He didn’t break the stare with Krycek but he let his breath come easier and he let his shoulders down.  In and out and Krycek would rhythmically fall in sync.  Mulder took control.
> 
> “Why were you in the Ambassador?”
> 
> Krycek didn’t miss a beat, his mind working in zigs and zags, “I was working.  What were you doing there?  Did Skinner fuck you in one of their nice beds?"
> 
> "No,” Mulder stated, shaking his head.  Everything he said had to be collected and implemented precisely from this point forward, “No, AD Skinner and I have only a professional friendship.  I was there helping him with a personal matter.  Are you worried that we’ve been having sex?”
> 
> “Worried? No, no, no, no, no,” Krycek’s finger had dipped from Mulder’s throat to play with the hem of his shirt, “I believe you.  I don’t care.”
> 
> “Thank you,” came the automatic reply, diplomatic and clinical.
> 
> Krycek didn’t bother to respond to it but he leaned in to press a kiss to Mulder’s mouth, which was returned against Mulder’s wishes—he didn’t want to touch Krycek now but he thought rejecting him would be worse.  When he finished, Krycek only pulled away enough to speak.
> 
> “My head hurts so fuckin’ much,” he murmured and Mulder actually felt a sweeping of sympathy.
> 
> “You’re under a lot of stress right now.  Maybe you should sit down.”
> 
> Krycek lingered, swaying on his feet, close to Mulder.  Then he shook his head, “No… No, I gotta’ go,” he began to move away.  Mulder let him but he followed.
> 
> “Where do you have to go?”
> 
> “To work,” Krycek replied cryptically.  He’d picked up his abandoned jacket and, before slipping it on, fixed his shirt, tucking in into the waistband of his jeans.  Mulder watched him, walking a wide circle around Krycek, “Somebody’s gotta… bring home the bacon.  Who else keeps you in silks and furs, Mulder?”
> 
> Despite Krycek’s chuckle, Mulder didn’t crack a smile at the remark.
> 
> “Alex,” he started but then hesitated.  He wasn’t sure he really wanted to ask and, in truth, was stunned that he was even considering it.  The words fought to come out of his mouth, “Do… Maybe it’s best you stay here tonight.”
> 
> Mulder wanted Krycek gone.  He wasn’t in a good frame of mind, he was treading so dangerously with him and he just wanted to see the back of him.  The doctor in him confirmed his fear but the other side of him feared not for himself, but for Krycek.  When would he see him again?  And in what condition would he find him in?
> 
> It was compassion Mulder had grown out of with Krycek.  When Krycek’d first gotten upset, he’d accused Mulder of complaining of his romantic sensibilities—or lack there of.  The statement was partially true but it was stale and old now.  He hadn’t asked for love, for romance, from Alex in such a long time.  In years.  When he’d been younger, it’d been different, when Krycek was still new and there was justification in the passionate affair of the heart.  Now, Mulder… the years went on and there was only so long Mulder could dangle on the fantasy.  
> 
> What they did… there was no excuse.  Mulder couldn’t deny Krycek’s body, he never did.  He didn’t ask for love anymore, though.  He asked for sex, for company but never for romance.
> 
> “No,” Krycek said, getting his jacket on and he let Mulder off the hook, “No, I really have to go.  I can’t stay, I didn’t have much time anyway.”
> 
> “Do you want to shower?  You might feel better.”
> 
> Krycek’s head dropped back and he sucked in a big breath, eyes closing.  Mulder was concerned he’d irritated him again but Krycek seemed to consider the offer, then rejected it with a somber sigh, “No… No, I can’t.  I wish I could but I can’t.”
> 
> Mulder’s emotions were mixed, he wanted to implore him to stay.  It wasn’t just the meth that made Mulder want him gone, it was just the way of the relationship.  They were sexual but hardly ever so intimate.  It was a rare moment that they shared in anyway.
> 
> Krycek crossed the room to come to stand in front of him, on his way towards the door, and he reached up to touch the side of Mulder’s face.  
>  "Unless,“ he started, "you’ll let me fuck you,” it was said so casually, like he was seeing if Mulder wanted coffee.  His touch was very gentle.
> 
> The sympathy Mulder felt suddenly froze into a chilled, icy indifference and he looked away from Krycek.
> 
> “No,” he replied leaving no room for interpretation.  He steeled against Krycek now, feeling degraded and angry by the ultimatum.  He knew he shouldn’t but he added, “I’ll never do that with you, not while you’re like this.”
> 
> Krycek laughed, “You don’t think I’ve fucked you high before?”
> 
> Mulder didn’t respond but his face was indignant.  
> 
> “It just wasn’t crystal—I started that in Japan—but I’ve been high.  A screwdriver every once in a while isn’t always enough for some of us 'underclassman’, Fox.  Some of us don’t have places to lay our heads… and we have to keep moving.”
> 
> “Don’t justify it to me, Alex,” Mulder said flatly, “I don’t need it.  You only have to justify it to yourself.”
> 
> “I’m only trying to make sure that next time I come back here, I can get a blow job,” Krycek was smiling, enjoying himself.  The comment made Mulder so angry, which only amused Krycek more, “Never know what the moody Fox Mulder will say next time.”
> 
> “Just go,”  Mulder realized he wasn’t just angry, he was hurt.
> 
> “I need one more thing.”
> 
> “What?” he snapped, brushing Krycek’s hand from his face finally.  He hated being touched by him right now.
> 
> Krycek let his hand drop and shrugged, “I need a little money.”
> 
> Mulder gave Krycek everything he had in his wallet, which was about fifty dollars and there was a little exchanged between them during the interaction.  Mulder had given Krycek money before, he’d even offered it to him, but right now it felt dirty.  Like he was paying him off to just leave.
> 
> “I’ll see you soon, Fox,” Krycek said as he opened the door.  It wasn’t a threat nor a promise.  It was just something they said… who knows?  He may never see him again.
> 
> The door closed and Mulder found himself securing it, pressing against it to confirm the click and flicking over the deadbolt.  It made him feel a little safer but not by much.  Sleep eluded Mulder for the rest of the night.  He sat on his couch, watched old reruns of “The Night Stalker” and thought about Alex Krycek.
> 
> Right before dawn, Mulder made coffee and drank it looking out the frosted window of his apartment, trying to see the streets through the thin layer of ice and the thicker layer of dust.  He was just beginning to settle from his encounter with Krycek but that ease was quickly dissipated by the throbbing worry that encased him.
> 
> He hoped Alex was okay.


End file.
